Despite whatever impressions Doom had formed through his collection of information or their brief face-to-face interactions, Misha was no fool. She knew which fights to pick and which would be suicide to even try, and she knew better than to try and honestly push herself past her own luck or wellness in some kind of heroic stunt. Everything was just so far out of whack right now with Doom focusing his attention on her, something that should never have happened but definitely had thanks to her acceptance of the Fantastic Four's aid... It stuck in her throat, the fear of what was to come in such a completely foreign scenario. None of her movies or books or TV shows had ever given her an idea of what the characters would do when faced with Misha Hunt.

"That long, huh?" It was jab at Doom, at jab at Reed, a jab at anyone she could reach right now. She was tired, she was scared, she was hurt. Everything was still spinning around in her head and her body wasn't doing much better thanks to the dear Doctor there. Although the descent had been slow, finally her mind succumbed to the pull of much-needed rest and she was out before her captor could reply.